


In the Wires

by dotfic



Series: Iron Dean [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-09
Updated: 2008-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark has a problem with the Iron Man suit, and receives help from a couple of specialists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Wires

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Thank you to [](http://marinarusalka.livejournal.com/profile)[**marinarusalka**](http://marinarusalka.livejournal.com/) and [](http://mclittlebitch.livejournal.com/profile)[**mclittlebitch**](http://mclittlebitch.livejournal.com/) , enablers and beta readers. I've included some speculation on how Tony might have remodeled his house post-movie.
> 
> This picks up right where [Ghost in the Machine](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/139411.html) left off.

"Are you quite sure about this, sir?" The voice, soft and vaguely British, came out of nowhere.

"Who said that?" Dean looked around the workshop, then up at the ceiling, checking for speakers. He glanced over at Sam, who shrugged.

"It's all right, Jarvis." Mr. Stark answered the air. He went to a workbench and began rifling through the bits of machine parts strewn across its sleek surface.

"Colonel Rhodes--"

"Isn't here, Jarvis. And we're never, ever going to tell him about this. Pepper?"

Miss Potts nodded once, quick. "I agree."

"Because he'd put the kibosh on this faster than you can say _what the hell were you thinking_."

"Well, I was thinking his feelings would be hurt, seeing as how you never let _him_..."

"Potts!" Mr. Stark's voice cracked a little. He looked up from the workbench and pressed his hands together. "Just don't ever tell him, okay? Please?"

"Okay."

"Because I don't want my suit to be haunted by a crazed terrorist who has a mad-on for me and much as it pains me to admit it, getting into the suit right now would be unnecessarily hazardous to my person and I think we're both pretty fond of my person." Mr. Stark gusted a sigh, throwing his whole body into it. "But someone has to get into the suit to lure out the ghost and you've already convinced me it can't be me. For the same reasons, it can't be Rhodey." Mr. Stark paused and looked over at Dean. "Don't die in my suit, because that would be messy."

"He's not going to die in the suit." Sam grabbed Dean's arm. "Dean, I don't know about this. Aside from the ghost, this is a pretty high-tech piece of equipment."

"That? Was an understatement." Mr. Stark pushed a key and a schematic of the suit came up. "However, he won't have any trouble operating it."

Dean peered at the schematics, trying to make sense of them. "Uh, so who...What's a Jarvis?" He spotted the weapons specs and whistled.

"An AI."

"Oh."

"He'll look after you while you're in the suit.

"Sir, I really must protest," the thing called Jarvis spoke up again. "I am unused to anyone but you being in it."

"I promise to be gentle with you, Jarvis," Dean called out. "Just close your eyes and pretend I'm him."

Miss Potts put her palm to her face while Sam made an oh-my-god, tell-me-we-aren't-related expression. But Mr. Stark laughed. "Jarvis, I'm moved. I am. You're doing this for me, buddy."

"I suppose this is absolutely necessary, to remove the spirit?" Jarvis said.

"Yes, Jarvis. Potts, we'll need the spare arc reactor, I'm going to insert it into the chest piece of the suit."

"Wait, wait." Miss Potts held up a slender hand. "First I want a detailed run-down of your plan."

When Mr. Stark opened his mouth, Miss Potts shushed him. "Not yours. _Theirs_."

* * *

"No way am I wearing that."

"Mr. Winchester, you'll wish you had. The suit chafes." Mr. Stark threw the body glove at Dean, who caught it. "You won't be real comfortable in your t-shirt and jeans."

Dean went to change where Miss Potts pointed, a small gym next to a bathroom with a shower stall.

When Dean emerged -- filling the body glove out _nicely_ if he said so himself -- Sam had finished painting sigils. It hardly seemed right that Miss Potts kept watching Sam work. She sat on a stool at the edge of the circle, one high heel hooked over the rung, one long leg crossed over the other, peering down at the marks on the clean workshop floor. Sam pulled four half-melted candles out of his knapsack.

"Stand there." Mr. Stark nodded at the area of the floor covered in black squares. It made Dean think of a launching pad. "No, more to the left." With an impatient sigh, Mr. Stark grabbed Dean's shoulders and maneuvered him into position, then let go. Mr. Stark stepped back, off the squares. "Hit it, Jarvis."

There was a rumble beneath Dean's feet and then the squares slid open. _What the shit._ Dean held his ground as pieces of the suit came at him from all sides, guided by spider-like metal arms. This part wasn't much fun, and Dean felt himself start to sweat inside the body glove as things whirred and snapped into place around him, closing him in.

Sam had looked up from his work, mouth hanging open. He moved forward but Miss Potts shook her head. "Mr. Stark has assured me it's a safe process." Her mouth quirked. "Whether you want to believe that is up to you."

Then it was done and Dean found himself encased in the second most awesome arrangement of metal he'd ever been in.

There was a hiss of hydraulics as the suit parts continued to adjust, molding to him as much as possible. Mr. Stark stood in front of him. "Comfy?"

"It's a little snug." Dean inhaled slowly, and exhaled.

"I built it custom for myself, you know." Mr. Stark tilted his head to one side as he studied Dean.

"Yeah. I am taller than you," Dean said, and smirked. He was starting to like Stark, the guy obviously had balls. Out-geeked Ash and even Sam. He'd read about Iron Man, the number of lives he'd saved. He'd thought Ash had been yanking their chain when he'd called to tell them what their next hunt was going to be.

Actually, Dean had geeked out a little -- _seriously, Iron Man, seriously?_ \-- but no one had to tell Mr. Stark that and Sam would keep it to himself, he hoped, unless there was an occasion for blackmail but Dean hadn't done anything yet this week to deserve it.

He looked down at the circle glowing in the middle of his – no, not his, the suit's – chest. Had to look away from the brightness. Around him the suit seemed to hum. It reminded him of the Impala on a smooth, fast road.

"The adaptation you made to the weaponry better not screw up my suit, Mr. Winchester," Mr. Stark said as he stepped forward. "You're not claustrophobic, are you?" He reached up and his fingers pressed something on the side of the head armor.

Dean heard a click. The face piece slid down and everything went dark for a moment. The air was close, smelled metallic. He reminded himself to breathe and was on the edge of calling out to Sam, just to touch base, when a view screen flickered on. Data popped up in his line of vision: temperature, humidity, velocity, horizon line, other numbers that meant nothing to him.

He could see the workshop, Sam's anxious face looming in next to Mr. Stark, who was frowning, lost in concentration as he adjusted something on the outside of the suit.

"Jarvis, change climate settings to Mr. Winchester's preferences. Tell Jarvis how you like the environment."

"On the cool side," Dean said, swallowing. Immediately, the air in the suit grew more comfortable and he felt air moving over him, against the body glove.

Dean waited, watching the read-outs. Miss Potts appeared next to Sam, staring towards Dean with a calm expression, but her jaw looked a little tense. Yeah, she definitely thought this would blow up in all their faces at any second. That she looked worried made Dean feel nervous, because when someone like Miss Potts thought something was a bad idea, it usually was.

"Try to walk," said Mr. Stark.

"How--"

"Just walk. The suit will do what you want."

He took a step.

"Whoa," said Dean.

"So now what?" Sam's voice sounded tinny at the edges through a comm system that was otherwise crystal clear.

"Last time the ghost didn't throw a fit until I was in the air." Stark folded his arms. "Because obviously, it wanted to kill me and that was easier if I wasn't on the ground."

"Um." Sam said, that was all, just _um_ but Dean heard the note of impending disaster in his voice.

"Not a problem," Dean said loudly.

"Not a problem?" Sam said, and his voice squeaked just a little.

"Yeah. I mean, this isn't like being in an airplane, right?" Dean swallowed again, only now he couldn't seem to work any spit into his mouth.

"Right," Sam said, too firmly.

"What's going on?" Miss Potts said, rounding on Sam.

"Uh, Dean's--"

"Not a word Sam."

"He's kind of--"

"I swear if you tell them I will--"

"He's got this problem with heights," Sam muttered. "Well, with flying."

"Oh, _that's_ going to work well," Stark said acidly.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, and they all turned to look at him, grainy in the helmet view-screen. "No way Sam's going to fit in this thing, he's too tall and I can handle this. We have to draw the sonuvabitch out and if I have to be in flight to do it, that's what we'll do. I mean..." He sucked in a breath. "I don't have to be really _high_ up, do I?" His own voice rasped dry in his ears. He wondered how he sounded through the mask.

Sam muttered something under his breath; a mix of a prayer and a curse and maybe some insults and vows that meant Dean would have to sleep with one eye open for a while.

He lifted his arm, heard the clicking of metal again, the hydraulics, and Sam, Miss Potts, and Stark drew back with almost comical haste. He expected to feel like Frankenstein's monster, lumbering and stiff with metal, but instead the legs of the suit moved easily, with a powerful grace. Experimentally, he took a few running steps, relishing the heavy thuds he caused.

"Jarvis," said Stark. "Open the roof."

With a whir of machinery, a section of the workshop roof opened, spilling California sunlight down through a circular shaft. The beams spilled over the vintage cars and the clutter of metal parts, robotic arms, and high-tech workstations.

"That's convenient," said Dean.

"Well, see, there was already a great big jagged hole in the ceiling so I thought, why not just go with it. So I did some remodeling. Used to have to fly out through the garage tunnel, which was kinda cool."

"Huh, yeah."

A robotic arm with what looked like a fire extinguisher hose attachment twitched in Dean's direction.

"Ah-ah, easy there." Stark held up his hand. "Don't get trigger happy. He isn't going down in a messy ball of flame." He paused. "Yet."

The robotic arm lowered itself, bobbed up and down, and Dean could swear the thing was laughing.

"You ready in there, Winchester?" Stark went over to a computer terminal and with the same flourish Liberace would show at a piano, hit a few keys.

Dean saw his brother standing tall with the pages of Latin grasped in his fingers. He nodded at Dean, offered a weak half-smile.

Dean managed a thumbs-up sign, his hand awkward in the unaccustomed weight.

"Jarvis, ten percent thrust."

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

While Miss Potts backed up until she was over in the kitchenette area, beside the leather couch, Dean heard a sound like a tiny jet engine and felt a jerk in the vicinity of his feet. The horizon line tilted as he felt himself rising off the floor.

"Ha!" Sam yelled out, and when Dean turned to look, he was grinning.

He hovered there for half a minute, and then Stark said, "Jarvis, thirty percent."

Dean's feet were above the line of the highest car roof now. He looked down at Sam, who was craning his head back to watch him, pages of Latin text still gripped in his hand. Then Dean craned his own neck back to stare up at the sun, at the Malibu sky dotted with puffy clouds. He'd never liked California but today he did, a little.

"Seventy percent."

He began to rise out through the opening in the roof. The horizon line wobbled as he felt himself wobbling, and Dean put out his hands instinctively.

"Don't flail around," Stark ordered. "That's it."

The line steadied.

"Ninety-five percent," Stark said, "but keep him just above the house, Jarvis. Maximum height 300 feet."

"Dean, you okay in there?" Sam called out as Dean cleared the roof of the Stark mansion and the view-screen zoomed in on waves crashing against a rocky beach at the base of the cliff.

"Fine," Dean said, his mouth so dry he couldn't actually manage more than a whisper. He cleared his throat. "We're good."

"There's a control in the left gauntlet that lets you accelerate and decelerate."

"Let's do it," Dean said, and touched the control.

His heart plunged down into his stomach as the suit launched upwards, into the blue sky. In a clinical flat tone, Jarvis announced their height. Dean heard the wind whistling along the outside of the suit and was just thinking how this wasn't so scary, this flying thing, just feeling his chest start to expand with the joy of it, when a red area started to blink at the upper left hand corner of his vision.

"Maximum allowable height reached," Jarvis said in a clipped way.

"Killjoy," Dean said.

"Bank right," Stark said.

Dean did, lost control, tumbled over until he was dizzy.

"Jarvis!" Stark barked the order, and something Dean didn't do happened, and the suit stopped tumbling.

"Oops," said Dean.

"Control. Keep your legs and arms straight, lean your whole body into the turn."

He tried it again, banking left for another sweep over the house. He thundered over the open roof, caught a glimpse of Miss Potts' and Sam's upturned faces, wind whipping their hair, Stark at a computer, looking at whatever was on the screen, not up at him. Dean picked up speed, swooped out over the water.

"Hey, Jarvis?"

"Yes?" The AI said with great caution, as if afraid of what he might ask.

"You got access to Mr. Stark's itunes library?"

"I have access to all of Mr. Stark's computer systems."

"Let's have some music, man."

"Certainly not. This isn't a joy-ride."

"Aw, c'mon."

"No."

"Rock and Roll by Zeppelin. C'mon, Jarvie. Pleeeease?"

Although the AI said nothing, the atmosphere inside the suit grew really, really sarcastic and Barry Manilow started to play.

"Jarvis, be nice," Stark said, and Jarvis switched to Dean's request.

"How's it going, Dean?" Sam called out.

Dean whooped in answer.

Something pale flickered at the edges of his vision, a translucent spot that spread until it coated the inside of the suit like sheets of water on the road during a heavy rainstorm. He had the quick impression of a human face, twisted with fury, the malevolence suffocating. Dean had faced down a lot of spooks in his years of hunting. Most of them were angry. But most of them were angry simply because they'd died, or wanted vengeance on the person who'd killed them. This one's hate had a laser beam intensity, but felt too broad for him to mentally grasp.

"Shit."

"Dean?" It was Sam. "Dean, what's going on?"

"It's the bogey." He started to turn but the ghost fought him, trying to control the suit. "Hey! Not yours!" He spoke the Latin incantation Sam had drilled him on, and strained successfully against the resistance as the pale glow weakened, then grew strong again. Dean managed to get himself over the hole in the roof before the display went dark and the thrusters stopped.

"That's not good," he heard Stark say, a split second before Dean began to plummet. "Jarvis, backup power."

"Already attempting," the AI said.

When Dean landed, the impact knocked his teeth and bones together and kicked the breath out of his body. He still couldn't see anything except the dimness inside the head piece and the pale glow that surrounded him but he wasn't so worried about seeing, since he was really busy trying to freakin' _breathe_.

"Dean? Dean!" Someone was tugging at the helmet.

He heard Stark say, "that switch, there."

Then the face piece retracted and Dean saw Sam's anxious face looking down at him.

Dean was lying on the hood of one of the cars, he couldn't see which, and seemed to have put a major dent into the hood. Dean thought of the care Stark obviously took with his vehicles, and winced inwardly.

The robotic arm swooped down and sprayed him with foam.

"Thank you, that was helpful," Stark informed the robot. "Seeing as how _he's not on fire._ "

Dean coughed while the robotic arm lowered.

"You can be replaced with a human, you know," Stark added, and the arm lowered further.

"Mr. Winchester, are you injured?" Miss Potts hurried over, heels clicking on the floor, looking more disheveled than she had when he'd taken off. Dean figured that, sadly, the concern wasn't for him. Her tone had a familiar note of _oh dear I hope there won't be a lawsuit._

"Call me Dean," he said, and coughed again. Sam and Stark pulled him off the car.

On his own, Dean was pretty sure he'd have trouble standing, but the suit kept him upright. His breath returning, he staggered into the circle Sam had painted on the workshop floor, hydraulics whirring as Dean knelt. Sam began to chant in Latin while Miss Potts and Stark stood close together, watching.

Dean swayed as the ghost tore free of the suit. He steadied himself by putting a metal hand on the floor.

"It's out." Sam turned slowly, reaching for his shotgun.

A transparent shape that flickered between recognizably human and unspeakable jerked in the air, confused now that it was out of its metal shell. It swirled, then streaked purposefully towards Stark and Miss Potts.

"Get down," Dean shouted, but Stark had already grabbed Miss Potts by the shoulders. They ducked beneath a worktable, Stark curving his body over hers as the spirit plowed across the room towards them, sending metal pieces and computer equipment flying. Sam had his shotgun to his shoulder but Dean stood and held out his metal arm, touched the control the way Stark had shown him.

The projectile found its target and exploded in a shower of rock-salt. The ghost vanished.

Stark poked his head up, keeping his hand on Miss Potts' back, holding her safely out of the way. "Is it gone?"

"Not yet," said Sam, turning with his shotgun raised. "We have to lure it back into the circle."

"It's pissed off at me, not just the suit," Stark said. "Let's give it some added incentive."

"Tony..." Miss Potts pushed her way to her feet, stayed after him as he walked towards Dean.

"Pepper," he said, his voice sharp, and she froze in place. "Stay back there. Please."

Biting her lower lip, she retreated. She shot a look at Sam that was just this side of frantic, and Sam sighed, made an apologetic face at her, and rolled his eyes. Dean decided Sam definitely hadn't looked at him right before he did that.

"Hey, jackass," Stark shouted, joining Dean in the circle. "Suit's here, I'm here. Where are you?"

The ghost popped back into being right next to him. Stark let out a startled yelp.

"Now, Sam." Dean shoved Stark left, then darted right, out of the circle. The spirit turned to go after Stark but as Sam resumed his Latin chant, the ghost came up against an invisible barrier, its form shattering outward before it reformed, trapped inside the circle.

Sam kept on going, relentless. The ghost vanished.

"Is that it?"

"Hopefully." Sam folded up the pieces of paper and tucked them into the back pocket of his jeans. "Since you didn't have anything that belonged to the deceased, and we have no way to get hold of the remains, that was about the only option."

"So it could come back," Miss Potts folded her arms. Her shoulders twitched with a shiver.

"Really, probably not. It's a pretty strong banishing spell."

"Hi, I have a question." Dean suddenly felt exhausted, his legs and arms and back aching.

"Yes?" said Stark.

"How the hell do I get out of this thing?"

  
~end


End file.
